


The Blackest Star

by AllIWannaDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:04:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllIWannaDo/pseuds/AllIWannaDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Power. The kind that only Dark Magic held. But it didn't burn; it warmed." A series of drabbles from the POV of Bellatrix Black/Lestrange. Covers her first encounter with Dark Magic, her obsessive love of Voldemort, her torture of the Longbottoms, her time in Azkaban, and her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knockturn Alley

The necklace whispered to her from across the room. Beckoning her closer.

She knew she shouldn't, but she approached.

Carefully, with a reverence that should've disgusted her, she trailed her small, shaking fingers over the black gold, the onyx as black as her eyes and as soulless, too. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm, raising the hairs and prickling the skin where it passed. 

Power. The kind that only Dark Magic held.

But it didn't burn; it _warmed_.

"Bellatrix! We're leaving!" her mother's voice snapped from what seemed a great distance away. Startled, Bellatrix dropped her hand and felt the warmth instantly drain from her.

Had Bellatrix's mother seen her touching what she wasn't supposed to, what Bellatrix _knew_ she wasn't supposed to?

The firm pressure of her mother's hand as she dragged her from Borgin and Burkes indicated that she had. 

To Bellatrix's unrestrained delight, the whispers followed her out the door.


	2. Forbidden Knowledge

As Bellatrix got older, the shackles of her mother's love only tightened around her and her sisters.

"Don't touch" was succeeded by other commands, which Bellatrix struggled to (pretend to) obey. All except for, "Wed the Lestrange boy and keep the bloodline pure." That one she did obey, and eagerly.

Bellatrix married Rudolphus Lestrange not because she loved him and not because she loved her mother - her heart was as impervious to love as the walls of Azkaban were to hope - but because in her own home she could enjoy the freedom she'd previously only enjoyed at Hogwarts: the freedom to study the Dark Arts unmolested, without having to lie and deceive to avoid reprimand.

Every day when her husband left for work, Bellatrix stole through Knockturn Alley in pursuit of knowledge denied to other women of her station. There she purchased volume after volume on the Dark Arts. The weight and content of these books would have bent and twisted the spine of a weaker woman, but Bellatrix stood straight with pride and purpose.

Once at home, she'd sit for hours in the library of her mansion, reading feverishly. Like the necklace in Borgin and Burkes, each of the books called to her in a language of its own. The louder ones cackled, or shrieked, or hissed as her fingers explored their spines and covers; the quieter ones whispered, as the necklace had, or else hummed or chanted incomprehensibly. Still others...merely breathed. She'd listen - basking in their warmth, with a fire in her eyes that rivaled the one in the hearth - before finally peeling back their covers and revealing the forbidden magic within.

The first time, she wondered,  _Have I really gotten away with it? Have I really defied all warnings about the evil, destructive power of Dark Magic?_ Indeed she had.

After many visits to Knockturn Alley, Bellatrix became conscious of being watched on her route to and from the bookstore. It didn't bother or frighten her, though. On the contrary, she relished it. She experienced the lecherous gazes of men as insects crawling or snakes slithering over her skin, but the eyes of this man - calculating, curious, but never lustful - caressed her. Of all the men who admired her beauty, including her husband, this man alone was worthy.

On the day when she encountered a man with dark hair and darker eyes in the bookstore she frequented, she knew his was the gaze that had pursued her.

He smiled, but it was a smile that conveyed neither pleasure nor warmth. It was a smile that appraised, a steely smile of recognition.

"Fine necklace, isn't it?" he commented. Bellatrix realized, then, as she forced her attention away from his face and toward his hands, that the necklace dangling from his fingers was the same one she had coveted, all those years ago, when as a child she'd accompanied her mother to Borgin and Burkes.

Only, it didn't whisper at his touch; it sang.


End file.
